BEAUTY IS TERROR

 A scene presented itself in Julian’s mind: The Gravemakers, hosts of a ‘wake’ for Marcus. If Pax wasn’t going to commemorate the fallen, then Lovell’s superior society decided to give the prick a proper send off. Celebrate his legacy of irritating, menacing, and wasting space and time. Julian could hear the thump of music and raucous voices, picture the low lights and cramped space of bodies moving around each other. A dart board with the infamous victim’s face on it. He scoffed at his mind, surely his time around his new family had swayed his imagination. It’d be a snap out, for sure. All of Lovell would hear it. That kind of facetious response would get them all somehow incriminated, surely.

He made a note to mention the idea to Jack or Andrew and gauge their reactions. Now? Green eyes and full focus was locked on Beaux. He’d be hard pressed to find a glimmer of weakness in her eyes now, and Julian could find admiration in that. She’d known him for years, known his penchant to test others’ waters for the slightest hint of blood. She knew not to give him any. Her eyes stayed easy and her laugh was warm. Julian knew to let it alone, returning to tending to the stove behind him. “Nah, not in the slightest.” he confirmed, laughing as she did at the thought of the president quaking in her boots at all of this. “For sure,” he granted, “I have a feelin’ it will. Get fuckin’ weirder… I got your back, though, don’t even worry. Keep the troops in line an’ all that. Won’t even bring up dethroning until after it’s all over.” 

His lips curled into a devilish smirk in her direction. The last bit was a slight tease, but the rest he’d meant earnestly. Julian’s main priority was the staunch defense of Beaux, and all his kin. In all honesty he’d been waiting for an opportunity to bare his teeth for her, it’d been too long and he was growing idle. If this Red Avenger got too brig for their britches,  Julian would love to set them straight. All he needed was the word.

He turned his attention back to the stove for a moment, half-listening to Beaux explain Nathan’s presence as he tended to sauce and chicken. He wondered about the nature of the argument that left Nathan incriminated, and shook his head in disbelief once more because he truly was in the wrong place at the wrong time. From the sounds of it, the police might hound their other President soon. A brief moment back to Beaux “I’ll do my best,” though Julian was certainly one to watch in the ‘prick-to-nathan’ regard, “You’d probably be the best to protect the poor dude from Silva, though. She just might win me over.” In truth, Julian would set his eyes on Nathan if Beaux hadn’t warned him not too. Extra stress was the best time to push, see just where the rough edges of Nathan lied. As from what he’d heard, the former President didn’t have any.

It was at the point where the food just needed time, so the young man slipped into a seat at the table, head in his hands as he rested his elbows on the table. “Y’know what I do wanna see, though?” he began to muse, “The autopsy.” It was a weakness of his, the intricacies of a broken body. He could spend hours discovering the mysteries of the dead. Down to the minute they began to decompose. He wanted to know it all, see the spilled blood, fractured bone, exposed flesh. “Should I try to swipe a copy?”

A flash of warmth, and a genuine smile spreading easily across her cheeks. She forgets, sometimes, how easily her darling Gravemakers can make her feel at home. They’re the perfect tools of comfort, a mix of wildness and loyalty that warms her right down to the core every time she’s put at the receiving end of it. The reassurance that Julian would have her back throughout whatever came up set her more at ease than most things could. She didn’t doubt that he meant it. “Well, no one could argue with that.” She allows, amusement bleeding through the words. She trusted Julian with this, really and truly, and it was nice to believe that he would keep everyone in check for her, even if her secrets were exposed. 

She supposed that he would be proud of her for doing it, if he found out. 

She hummed lightly as he responded to her again, tilting her head. He had a good point. No one was likely to keep Silva in check, no matter who Beaux asked. Silva had strong opinions and always held a grudge, and she had never liked Nathan St Leger. “Your best is all I can ask for, on that front.” A soft laugh. “I can only be in so many places at once, or I would be his valiant protector.” 

Her attention fixated on Julian when he leaned on the table. He had that look in his eye that told Beaux danger was on the horizon, that made her want to reach for the fire extinguisher. Gruesome cogs were turning in his mind and she could practically see them working. A soft click of her tongue and a harsh breath escaped her. The autopsy. What would it say? What secrets could it possibly hold. “Not sure there’s really that much of a body to examine, Jules.” She muttered, but the curiosity was getting the better of her too, a morbid part of her longing to hold it in her hands just as much as he was. 

She wanted it. Wanted to flick through its pages and read every thought that was had about Marcus Abernathy, post mortem. She presses her lips together, tilting her laptop screen down so the light doesn’t hit her as much, so she can look more clearly at Julian. “Well, I wouldn’t hate it if you tried.” She mused, open now. “I can’t say I’m not curious about it.” 

She rolls over onto her stomach, after a minute, turning her head to look at Beaux again. Something about the tone of her voice – it’s that tightness again, like a string drawn too taut, a slight shake that might snap. She’s not used to hearing Beaux sound like that; even under all of the strain of senior year, of being president, of all of the hundred amazing things Beaux makes time for every single day, she’s not used to hearing Beaux sound like she’s under stress, like anything is a strain.

There’s a piece of her that wants to pick at it like a scab until it bleeds; with anyone else, she would, would press until she knew the source. But not Beaux, she couldn’t– if Beaux was hurting, all she’d want to do was smooth over it like a salve. 

     “Okay,” she says, and her voice is still gentle, too gentle. It takes a moment longer than it should to come up with something else to say, some other unconnected topic, like everything that has been going on prior to this week has been wiped away from them by the red avenger or whatever he’s calling himself. She’s grasping at straws, thinking of something else to say. “Hey, you’ll never guess what my shit-head supervisor said at our meeting today.”

Vulnerability isn’t a feeling Beaux is accustomed to. She isn’t used to feeling shaken apart. All the world is a stage and Beaux has always been quite adept at playing her part, playing someone stronger than this, playing someone who never falters. She’s played her part for so long now that she almost forgot she was acting.

She doesn’t want to falter. She doesn’t want to slide back into being the girl she was three years ago -- a girl that Silva barely liked, if she remembers correctly. 

She wonders what Silva would think if she knew that her best friend was a killer. 

     “Okay.” She echoes, thankful that Silva isn’t pushing, that she’s letting this sleeping dog rest. She shifts, blinking back at Silva as she speaks again. “What? What’d he say?” This was good, more comfortable ground. Beaux was starting to feel like she knew Silva’s coursework almost as well as Silva did, as invested as they had both been in helping each other out. “Was it condescending and awful?”

     “In fairness, you make the breakfasts so I’ll eat with you.”

She leans back, looking up at the ceiling from where she is, letting her eyes drift shut for a moment while she listens to Beaux talk about the vigil. Of course, the one time she decided not to tag along there was drama – she’d heard about it from the others when they got home, just before Beaux, but hopefully Yaz or someone had filmed the whole ordeal so she could watch it all later and see what she’d missed.

     “I figured you weren’t going,” she admits, not quite wanting to admit to being annoyed she’d missed it. “Thought you’d feel the same way I did about the whole thing, which is, you know, that it’s stupid as fuck. I don’t know why anyone actually wants to dig up shit that happened three years ago just because some dick went from being presumed dead to, like, confirmed dead.” 

She lets out a sigh; she isn’t sure why the whole ordeal is bothering her so much. Normally, Beaux would have been right – she lived for drama like that. And everyone seemed to believe she would’ve thought it was all a blast. But something still felt wrong, about it all, a low discomfort in the pit of her stomach she doesn’t understand. 

     “Hm. Fine. We’re even then.” 

She tries not to feel at a loss when SIlva looks away. She doesn’t close her eyes. All she can really do is watch her. Watch the rise and fall of her chest, watch her face move. Its easier sometimes, to look at Silva when Silva isn’t looking back. Its easier not to feel caught out or thrown off her guard without Silva’s eyes piercing back into her. 

     “I almost didn’t.” She admits in return. She knows Silva would have rathered that she didn’t. That she could have spent the night with her favourite person instead of standing in that mess. “I just...couldn’t not, in the end.” Its too honest. She’d been drawn to the vigil like a moth to the many flames of it. Morbid curiosity. The flickering of guilt in her stomach. She wants to spill out every one of her dirty secrets right now, wants to tell Silva every horrible inch of the story, but her skin starts to crawl at the thought. 

She finally rips her eyes away, turns to face the ceiling of the room herself. They don’t close, and she’s feeling a little wound tight again. “I wish I could explain why.” She admits, and that;s too honest too. She’s used to being too honest with Silva. Has spilled every other secret in her life. But she can’t let go of this one, not now. “Its dumb. Lets just forget about it.”

Julian was casual as he moved through the shared kitchen, but purposeful still. Fridge, to pantry, to cupboard, to dresser,  setting requirements for pasta along the black counter top. As if it would all be snatched if he meandered about and didn’t make and eat. No space, not even his room, was typically a comfort zone for the young man, an alarm was on the verge of blaring at any moment, to set him into a sprint. It took getting used to. A kitchen this large. The thought of it even as a separate space. 

Beaux brought a sense of comfort to the space, though, as she tended to. It’s what made the title of president fit her so well, in the man’s eyes at least. A composure not quite cold like his own, but warmer and reassuring. At least there’s still a few of us with our heads on.  He smirked slightly and nodded, “Guess so. Man, what a shitty ghost.” Lovell was haunted by a bourgeoisie fuckboy. It was poetic.  Julian granted his associates their ‘spook’, truth be told there was something spooky about all of this to him too. A pair of eyes he couldn’t see, not quite behind him, not quite in front. Watching. 

“They’d better.” Julian affirmed, though it sounded akin to a warning. He needed them lively. “I don’t want to have to talk sense into them.” He spoke in jest. Although, he would. And it would feel more like a kick in the pants then consoling if he did. It may have been just what they needed. He left his work for a moment to turn his attention to Beaux fully. “You’re not spooked, right?” He asked, raised brow and smirk to lighten the prying. He was prying, though. He needed to know if his stalwart leader was scared. 

He wouldn’t blame her if she was, They’d all earned some fear after all this time. But, if so, then why? Did she shudder at death, the gruesome nature of the events? Or was it something else? Julian may have chalked it up to paranoia, but he’d felt something wrong in the back of his mind, and he was curious in that moment if maybe someone else felt it too.

But aside from that — What the fuck did Beaux just say?! “No fucking way in hell. Nathan?” Julian asked as his eyes went wide, then a slight laugh of shock left him. “Fuck, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, or what?” He set about her request for the kettle, mind still fixed on his old president as a suspect for a murder. Sensible, tepid, lovesick Nathan. God the police are making an ass out of themselves here. If they can’t find the real killer and pin it on Nathan… Julian made a mental note to share this observation with the ginger, just to see his reaction.

He rolled his eyes softly, “Nightmare boys…” Not a lie at all. Not in the way lights seemed to dim when Julian entered spaces with fellow gravemakers. Jonathan was a fine example of it, the sounding board he created for Cortes’ bad behavior. “Marko’d be fun to have around for this shit show, that’s for sure.” That and he’d rile up all the other troublemakers of the house. Julian turned back to his cooking. “But we got sweet ol’ Nate back. Awesome.” 

A soft breath of a laugh huffs out of her as she watches him. “Don’t worry. They’ll snap out of it the second you present them with the chance to have some real fun.” It was true -- above all else, Gravemakers were easily distracted with a party and some generally destructive behaviour. Give them some cheap beer and someone to terrorise, and they would be at their very happiest. They were the wild ones, after all, and it was in all their blood, even if they might seem tame on the outside. 

A click of her tongue, she can feel Julian’s eyes on her. They feel heavy with the weight of it, but she does her best to remind herself that its a casual question, that heres a certain hint of a joke in it. He was digging his nails in, trying to gently lift a lid, but there wasn’t malice in it. “Do I look spooked to you, Cortes?” A laugh in her tone, easy and free. “God, If I ever got spooked that easy, you would have my permission to dethrone me at your earliest convenience. What kind of Gravemaker would I be if some old bones scared me?” It was a filthy lie. She was more spooked than any of them, but she could never admit it to him. She wasn’t sure what he would do -- if he would be a loyal commander, or see her old fuck up as a chance to ruin her. Sometimes, she could never tell what his reaction would be. She liked the uncertainty most of the time, now it set her on edge. “Though, I reserve the right to act scared shitless if things get any weirder than they are right now.” 

A fleeting thought crossed her mind that Julian was the kind of boy to try and ruin you, that he could be behind all of this. But she brushed it off as soon as it had made itself known to her. She knew it was just the paranoia talking, knew it was the lack of sleep and the heavy weight of someone elses threat in the air getting to her. 

She arches an eyebrow at his reaction, laughing softly at the shock in his voice. Of course he was shocked, who wouldn’t be? Nathan was a gravemaker, yes, but he had never been the grittiest of them. When she was a first year, she thought he was the absolute bees knees. She still did -- he was calm, and smart, and he a good President. But he was far from a wild one, didn’t carry the same primal urgency that some of the rest of them did. He wasn’t a sharp knife waiting to strike. “Him and Marko got into a fight with Abernathy, I guess. Before he disappeared. Best lead they’ve got, because they’re idiots.” She keeps it light, keeps it amused. “He’s stealing my room until they let him leave.” 

She smiles another smile, genuine as her eyes lock onto his movements. She let herself sink into it, the delight she felt sometimes at his company, at the company of so many of them. Julian was one of her nightmare boys and she adored him, even when she felt uncertain about him. “God, I’m shuddering just thinking about the trouble you’d all get into. You;d have our Red Avenger running scared.” She’s delightfully amused, derisive when she stresses the name. “Hey, you’ll do me a favour and make sure no one is a prick to him, right?” A pause. “Even Silva. She’s never liked him, you know? But he doesn’t need the extra stress.” 

Imogen saw a lot of herself in the past of Beaux. She was a party girl now, always finding some way to get a drink and a guy (or girl) to flirt with. This hadn’t been what she had gone to school for but somehow she had gotten caught up in the partying life. Before college she had never even been to a party. But now there she was, finding herself a new party every night. She spent her days focusing on her dreams, but her nights were spent drunk making make decisions. Imogen couldn’t imagine Beaux ever acting that way. She was so put together. 

“Well I’m sorry, for whatever he did to you.” Imogen was good at reading people and she could see in Beaux’s eyes that something truly awful had happened to her because of Marcus. 

“Sounds like a good plan, though I don’t think many of them would willingly give you a chance. To be honest I think they’re afraid of you.” 

Imogen smiles, putting her hands into her pockets. “It’s not a problem, I know you would do the same for me.” 

She shakes her head, minutely. A tiny movement. All she can really muster. 

     “Don’t be sorry. He’s long gone now.” Don’t apologise to a murderer. Its the first thought that flashes across her mind. She wonders what Imogen would think of her if she knew the things Beaux had done, if she would ever see her the same way, if she would think her a monster. 

Her smile is almost viciously satisfied at the following words. Afraid. “Most of them should be. Us Gravemakers put a lot of effort into people being afraid of us, you know.” Its satisfied, pleased, amused all in one. “Makes it easier to shake off the would-be’s.” 

She levels Imogen with a calculating look. She would do the same for her, she realised. She would want to comfort and soothe hurts if she could. “Well, I owe you one.” 

location: The Morgue date: January 24th time: evening  (for @bbeauxx)

Ironically, Julian accounted for the Morgue being one of the more lively places in Lovell. There were typically a few Gravemakers about, working on an assignment or putting an assignment off, avoiding some trouble or looking to get into some. Especially this time of week, around the time the student body decided they needed to blow off steam. He expected to find some sort of pre-game, a proposition to party off at someone else’s home or go bar hopping. But this night was different.

The place was stiffly silent as Julian descended the stairs from his room. It didn’t take much thought to figure the cause. The elephant in the town, paraded through the Gravemakers’ home and Julian knew everyone was trying to box their fear up and set it aside. Either that or run at it like a raging bull, alone and without remorse. That’s the type they all were when it came to these types of things (at least the young man liked to think so). Except Julian wasn’t scared. He’d caught the tail end of the thing, saw even Abernathy’s ego outmatched by red paint. The only thing unnerving was in the way all eyes seemed to narrow in on the Gravemakers when it happened. Like anyone here would ever be so messy.

He ran into Beaux in the kitchen, looking for something to keep his hands busy. His pace slowed and he nodded a greeting in her direction. “Hey. D’you know what’s gotten into the kids lately?” He asked, curious of the president’s attitude to this, or at least aspects of it. His green eyes scanned Beaux for clues. The president was an enigma he knew to respect, but he couldn’t help but want to poke for answers to what went on in that head. He searched for the answers before he’d ever dare ask. “Also… what’s up with Nathan st. Leger floatin’ round here? Some sort of reunion? ‘S Marko gonna pop his head in too?”

The kitchen was her safehaven, it always had been. Even before she had lived at the Morgue, Beaux had loved this room of the house. Its worn down surfaces, the windows that let just the right amount of light in. She’d made it her own, in the last few years, and you could usually find her haunting it at all hours, her camp set up at the small table as she worked on essays. 

She finds it comforting, sitting there. Loves that she can inhabit the space in the quiet, and loves that every now and then one of her friends with float through her space and brighten it up even further. Now, she’s settled in, laptop illuminating the surface of the table, coffee cup clenched in her hands, chasing the chill from her body. 

It takes a second to pull herself out of her own mind when Julian’s voice greets her. She glances up at him, giving him a smile. He was a beast of a boy, she’d always thought so. Quick and cunning and calculating in the best possible ways -- safe, as long as you didn’t weaken yourself too much in front of him, as long as you kept him in check. “I think they’re spooked.” Its dry, almost a sigh as it comes out. It had been an exciting few days. She couldn’t blame them -- she was spooked too. But then again, she had more of a reason to be. “They’ll liven up again in a day or two. They always do.” 

She watched him as he moved, arching an eyebrow. “Nathan St Leger is a murder suspect.” A sharp grin, because it feels like what she should do. She doesn’t feel like joking about it, but its a self defence mechanism around older Gravemakers, especially older Gravemakers like Julian. “Therefore,” she continues, “Nathan St Leger is staying for a while. You know, Island of Lost toys, and all that.” She gives it a moment of thought. “Marko, I’m not sure. He might be. He hasn’t been in touch lately, so...” A shrug of her shoulders, and then, with a practiced absentminded tone. “Hey, turn on the kettle, will you? I need more coffee if I want to finish this assignment.” 

She takes a breath, calming. And then turns in her chair slightly, pulling her legs up. “You’d have a ton of fun if Marko showed up, wouldn’t you?” An arch of her eyebrow again, another attempt at normal. “My nightmare boys.” 

     “I know,” he says, suddenly sounding as tired as he feels. “It was a joke. I– god, I must be tired. I thought that was really funny. I saw him on my way out of the station, actually, and it… went about as well as expected. By which I mean: if I’m lucky, I’ll get out of here without having to speak to him at all.”

The coffee, warm in his hands, felt a little bit like an anchor suddenly, as the reality of the situation finally started to get through to him. Stuck back at his alma mater, part of a murder investigation, here for who knew how long, and he hadn’t even managed to call his boyfriend yet to let him know he’d gotten there okay. He had things back home he needed to do – a job to go to, a dog to take care of. He’d just finally started finally getting used to his post-college life and now, here he was again, to interrupt it all.

     “Anyway, I hate to just… walk in here and ask you for things, but I was wondering if I could ask you a favor?”

She resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow at him, to pry for more of the story. Good relationship drama had always been Nathans forte. Logan and Nathan had been the hottest gossip around campus for a while in her freshman year, a scandal. Nathan St Leger had monopolised Lovell’s favourite billionaire playboy all year long. She always thought they’d had a romantic air about them, but like a lot of people, it seemed they’d crashed and burned. 

    “If you’re lucky, sure.” A shrug of her shoulder. “We’re not always the lucky types though, are we?” He was being cursed to see Logan, she was being cursed to have all of this shoved back in her face. She wished she could tell him, maybe he’d find it comforting. Hey, you’re not the biggest mess in the room. 

She lets out a soft breath, relieved that the conversation has moved on to something she can do for him. “Hey, once a president, always a president.” She leans back in her chair, a smile forming on her face. “Ask and you shall receive.” 

She meant it. There weren’t a lot of people Beaux would do things for. Her Gravemakers, mostly. It was her job to take care of them. It was her job to keep them alive and in one piece. And she respected Nathan, she always had. He’d been a good leader. Nothing dramatic, but a revolutionary in his own ways. She’d help him in any way that she could.  

The way the pillows are arranged, Beaux sinks into the bed next to her, close and comfortable and just the way Silva wants it. She looks a little less tired, a little more herself, now that she’s off her feet and Silva lets out a silent sigh without thinking, feeling a little comforted that maybe whatever’s eating her best friend isn’t all that bad. Silva lays down, too, turning on her side to face her, returns the teasing smile.

     “Hey, I think I’ve bought you enough booze to make up for the breakfasts, in fairness.”

She reaches across, brushing a stray lock of hair away from Beaux’s face, more to get her attention and keep it there than to actually fix her hair – Beaux’s hair is, as always, a damn sight closer to perfect than Silva’s has ever been, the bleach-damaged strands going whichever way they please around her face, like they haven’t seen a brush or anything more than a bottle of dry shampoo in at least three days. 

     “I can’t promise I’ll be nice, but if you insist, I’ll try my best. Tone it down to moderately bitchy instead of the levels I normally reserve for a tool like that.”

     “You buy me booze so I’ll drink with you. S’different. Its its own transaction.” The words are soft, a fight they’ve had a thousand and one times in the past, familiar waters. 

She fixes Silva with a soft smile, almost against her own will. She can’t help sometimes the way she smiles at Silva. Just like she can’t help the way her head tilts into the small touch of her hand. Can’t help the way it makes her feel just a little bit flayed open. 

     “Oh. Moderately bitchy.” A teasing lilt. “I suppose that’ll have to do.” 

She worms her way into a more comfortable position, a little bit closer, her feet tucking under the heavy blanket. She wants to board up the door and never let someone in. Wants to bring her books and her candles and her incense up here and fill the room up with her belongings and never leave, never let Silva leave. 

With a small sigh, she blinks at Silva. “You would have liked this whole vigil thing. It was bullshit. There was --” A deep breath. “You missed all the drama. More secret messages from Lovell’s resident grave-robber.” She wets her lips, feeling the dehydration of the day setting in. She should go drink a glass of water, but she doesn’t want to get up. Never wants to leave. 

Location: Ray’s Diner Time: 2:30 am Status: Open

Laura had to get away from all of it. From the vigil, the revelation, death, everything. It felt like she drowning in it and she couldn’t reach the surface. She hadn’t felt like it since the day she found out about her parents. The vigil was two days before, but Laura couldn’t shake it. The Morgue even felt like it was suffocating her, the place she called home felt like it was out to get her. That was how she ended up at Ray’s. It had become her escape from the chaos since her freshman year. She set herself up in a booth by the door, laying out her laptop and a textbook even though she knew no work would get finished.

The news blast from earlier that day kept flashing in her mind. The Red Avenger. Who could it be and why did they decide they would be Lovell’s masked vigilante? How did they know who did it? The door chiming caught her attention and made her raise a brow when she noticed who it was. She plastered a smile on her face, pushing whatever thoughts were plaguing her to the back of her mind. 

”The seats open if you want it. But first, you have to answer a riddle. A box without hinges, lock or key, yet golden treasure lies within. What is it?”

Would she ever feel like she could breathe again? She’d never been the jumpy sort of person, but all day she’d been nearly hopping out of her skin at every tiny little thing. She hoped it didn’t show. The last thing she needed to start doing now was acting like a murder suspect. The amount of caffeine she had put into her body today couldn’t be helping, but she hadn’t slept well and it only served to exacerbate her dependence on it. 

Some carbs would do her good. And another cup. And a pack of cigarettes, if she could the extra money for them. And a fucking grip, if she could get one. 

She doesn’t notice Laura when she walks in. Usually, Beaux is always on alert. Normally, she can spot a gravemaker from a mile away. Now, all she can think of is getting her food and not getting arrested. She spins around a tad too quickly at the words, a smile slapping itself onto her face, less genuine than usual. 

She contemplates the riddle with a tilt of her head, slow mind whirring. “An egg?” She allows herself to slide onto the worn bench of the booth. She doesn’t need the company, particularly, but a chat with Laura might force her into a normal state of mind. “Have you been reading the Hobbit?” 

Location: Front Square Time: Right After Memorial Unveiling Status: OPEN

As his gaze scanned the large crowd gathered at the vigil, he couldn’t help but feel nostalgic, and not necessarily in a good way. The divide was clear - Gravemakers on one side, Pax Aurea on the other - separated like oil and water even under the so-called truce in place. “Things never change,” he stated under his breath, the slightest of smirks appearing on his lips before he was pulled back to reality by the collective gasp from the people surrounding him.

After over a year working in homicide, Niles had become a bit desensitized to the evil shit that mankind was capable of. It was true that over time, things had seemed to surprise him less and less, but Marcus Abernathy’s bones appearing miles away from their resting place was definitely cause for a stir. And now also a pointed message for whoever murdered Abernathy - red, like the blood they spilled. It was something out of a horror movie.

“Did you know him? Abernathy?” he asked casually to the person beside him as he nodded to the memorial, never one for your typical pen-and-notepad interview. “Always heard he was a  dick.” 

Her eyes were glued to the memorial. The red writing, a warning she needed to heed. She was frozen, terrified, her hand curled tightly around the phone in her pocket. She should leave, she should turn around right now and walk away and never look back.

The voice startles her into a jump, a skittish burst of energy as her eyes finally leave the memorial. “What?” 

Then a breath, deep, calming, more controlled words finding their place. “A little. Not well. We weren’t friends, mostly just...just saw him at parties.” 

She tries for a smile, a little strained from the night thats in all of this. The words are burned into the back of her eyelids, even though she isn’t looking at them anymore. She has a feeling they’ll never leave her, none of this will ever leave her. “He was..well. Yeah, okay, Dick is a good word for it.” 

    Feelings weren’t exactly one of Wesley’s strong suits, if she even really had any, for that matter. Eyebrows raising, boredom crossing her expression, and she was over it. The moment of curiosity passing - after-all, not many here had really been his friend, anyway. It was all a sick joke, the candles bobbing around the two brunettes in the middle of it. She withheld an eye-roll and started to light a cigarette.

   “You shouldn’t feel anything,” Wes answered with tight lips, holding her vice gently as she lit in the the chill breeze. It took a couple of tries, but she got it, and glanced back to Beaux with a scowl peering out from under her hood. It was annoying, yeah - everyone acting like maybe he’d been worth a damn. “Feelin’ something doesn’t really help anyone - especially not him. Not you.” 

  That had been what Wes kept telling herself, and now she shrugged. “One less pain in the ass around here, right? Just sorta weird how he got found - call me crazy, paranoid, but… that didn’t feel like the end of it.” 

The tiny voice at the back of Beaux’s mind said this: confess, confess, confess. This is it, the one person who cares that he’s gone. And here she is, talking to her as if she doesn’t have to be guilty about it. 

A small shake of her head, and then a quick nod. 

     “We’re far from free of all this.” 

She knew it deep in her soul the second it left her lips. Someone who liked making things as dramatic as a body in the courtyard wouldn’t leave her alone now. They’d keep doing things like this until she was in a corner she couldn’t get out of. With a shudder, she clears her throat, eyes flicking to the cigarette. 

     “Hey, can I bum one?” They’d all smell it on her when she got back, make fun of her for acting so holier than thou about quitting. But right now, it was all she needed. 

He takes a seat, at the little table in the kitchen, the breakfast nook that’s been there at least since he was a freshman, two chairs around the small table. It had been one of his favorite spots in the house, back then, where he and Angela would eat Ben & Jerrys and go over problem sets together, where he had had countless tiny existential crises over coffee late at night, where he and Logan had shared soggy cereal in the mornings towards the end of his senior year. 

And he takes the coffee gratefully, too, glad for the excuse to pull himself out of his little venture down memory lane, and takes a minute to actually look at Beaux as she sits down across from him. She looks tired, about as tired as he’d gotten used to constantly feeling when he was her age. It was only natural, he supposed. And the coffee seems to help her – or maybe it just helps him enough that she starts to look better by proxy.

     “I mean, hey, the worst thing that happens is they try to arrest me for something I didn’t do. I hear Logan Ainsley’s some big shot lawyer now, you think he’d represent me pro bono?”

It takes everything in her body to calm herself down as he drinks his coffee, as he talks a little. If she isn’t careful, she’ll spiral into a self destructive self blaming pit of despair. 

Then, it takes everything in her power not to break the pro bono joke that would pop into the mind of each and every single one of her friends. Silva would just make the joke, she thought. But she was a stronger woman, she could refrain. She allows herself the amused smile, though. 

     “I’m sure you could...convince him.” Its slow, but she doesn’t mean for it to imply anything. All she could remember though was what they had been like, once upon a time, how Nathan could convince Logan to do things nobody else could. “I’m not sure you’d want him to, unless he actually studied criminal law.” A second of thought. “Doesn’t really seem his style, though.” 

“People are too fucking stupid to get how amazing you are, alright. Most of them anyway.” Nat was quick to reply, bumping her shoulder with Beaux’s just the same as her friend that only she smiled bright and warm as she did so. At the game of chicken that the Gravemakers played when it came to affectionate gestures Nat usually lost but with Beaux it was different. Much as she loved her friend, she had noticed long ago that she wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of gal, not even with those she was closest to and Nat was not the kind to push. Never had been. Just another trait she didn’t share with her parents.

Nat could almost feel the weariness radiating off of Beaux in waves. They were too young to be so tired, she often thought and no one had more responsabilities then the president of the Gravemakers and that on top of  all the shit Beaux already dealt with. She wanted to shake some of the oldest members at time, take Andrew and Julian into a corner and tell them to stop fucking around and step up to the plate.

Beaux would not be here forever and someone would have to succeed her and besides Silva, Nat failed to see how anyone might be up to the task. She had started to worry about the fate of them all once Beaux would be gone and although she didn’t voice her concerns, thankfully she was pretty skilled at hiding her real feelings. Most of the time anyway.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Walsh gets pissy when you go through his personal stash, we’d have more luck with Jack’s.“

     “That’s sweet of you to say.” She mutters, smiling softly. “You’re right. 99% of the world are two dumb to see how cool most of us are.” Its half joking, a theatrically sad shake of her head accompanying the words. 

She could see deep thoughts working their way through Nat’s eyes. Normally, she might push. Normally she might try to get Nat to spill them out in front of her. Beaux loved listening to her friends, loved when the worked through deep ideas with her, loved when they trusted her with the innermost workings of their brains. It was fascinating, it was flattering. She lived for it.

But tonight there was probably too much going on to ply them carefully out of her. 

     “Walsh is a big baby.” A roll of her eyes. “But he’s got better shit than Jack does in the whiskey department. Gotta let a girl be picky, Nat.” 

A party girl? Imogen never would have pegged Beaux for a party girl. But she wasn’t one to judge others for their pasts. “Everyone goes through some kind of rough patch, everyone has something that they look back on and regret.” Imogen offered, trying to make Beaux feel more comfortable talking to her. They hadn’t spoken much and she wanted to make sure Beaux was okay. After all, she did seem fairly off kilter about the whole situation. Imogen wasn’t going to let her be along at this point. She knew that Beaux would do the same for her. 

“I’ve met my fair share of terrible guys. There are terrible guys who send dick picks and then there are terrible guys who do terrible things to good people.” Imogen cringed slightly at her own words. She took a sip from her flask. “Sounds like he deserved it. If he’s an eleven, sounds like he deserves what he got.” 

She wasn’t the kind of person to wish death on others, but there was something about this guy, the things that she had heard about him, made her wish she had been the one who killed him. Seeing a bad person go down in flames, now that would something she would enjoy. Imogen shook the thoughts from her head, convinced they were brought on by the booze and her own overactive imagination. 

“I get it. Some of them can be borderline intolerable sometimes. But they’re good, if you get to know them. If you can get past their tough Gravemaker-hating exteriors.” Imogen smiled, she loved Pax, but their learned hatred for anything not beautiful, it pissed her off sometimes. 

“No, not here for your talents. At least not this time. I just thought you could use a friend.” 

She arches a brow. A rough patch. Well, it wasn’t an unfitting descriptor of her first year. She couldn’t even remember what it was like to be that girl. The kind of girl who tried so hard to shiny and beaming and bright. Pretty pink hairbands and knee high socks and carefully curled hair, eyelashes batting at dumb frat boys. It hadn’t been her, not really. And it had taken killing a man to shake her out of it, to knock her back into being a morbid bleak scared little girl. 

     “A lot of people deserve a lot of things, I guess.” She says, with a shrug of her shoulder. Marcus had tried to take so much from her. She didn’t regret that he was dead. She just regretted that he was back.

A wry smile slips on. “I’ll give all of them a chance when they give us a chance. For now, I’ll just strategically stick to the few sane people.” 

It warms her, the confession. Her demeanour softens an extra amount, a glimpse at the calm and comfort she feels around her gravemakers. “Thats...nice of you.” She says, reaching out to squeeze Imogen’s hand. “I appreciate that.” 

It’s hard, looking at how tired Beaux looks, and trying to connect that with the vigil. She hadn’t even thought Beaux would be at the vigil, or she might’ve accepted any of the several offers to tag along that she’d come across over the course of the evening, just to spend it drinking vodka out of a Nalgene by her side. She’s sure that’s not it, though, why Beaux looks like she’s maybe ten minutes from collapsing or shaking apart. But–

     “St Leger is here? Well fuck me sideways, my rival returns at last. What, do they think he’s got the balls to have murdered someone? I thought they ruled that one out, last time.”

It’s not great news, but at least she’s more notorious as a Gravemaker now than Nathan St Leger even was, even when he was president. It feels like the small victory she’s been working her way towards ever since he refused to tap her, and she certainly won’t mind making matters worse for him if he’s stuck crashing here. Not to mention, the side effect isn’t something she can frown at.

     “But, shit, yeah Beaux, of course. It’s a fuckin’ mess in here but you know there’s always room for you. Mi casa es su casa and all that, literally. C’mon, get up here, I’ll clear off the rest of the bed.”

She pats the bed next to her, where there’s space, and then moves to shove some of the clothes off and onto the floor. There’s not much she can do without dedicating some time she doesn’t have to cleaning, but she can at least move the mess onto somewhere it’ll get trampled instead of somewhere it’s directly in the way. 

     “Apparently he’s the best lead they’ve got.” She says, quieter than she usually might be. Until they get to me, she thinks. It’s hard to balance the relief that they don’t suspect her yet with the guilt that they think it was Nathan. “Be nice, okay? It’s stressing him out.” 

A relieved smile crosses her face, finally genuine, finally actually feeling some of the stress course out of her body. Being around SIlva was the one good thing in her life right now, the one thing that wasn’t stressful. 

She moves up the bead, situating herself in the space made for her, back against the soft poof of a pillow. She didn’t mind the mess, or the clutter. It was all so very Silva. It was all perfect. And it all smelled like her, an added layer of familiar comfort.

And now she was being a sap.

     “I guess we can think of it as payment for the breakfast I’ve made you every morning for the last...what is it now, three years?” Her smile turns teasing. She just wants to marinate in this, wants to forget how exhausted and stressed out she is and just somehow trick Silva into playing with her hair for a while.

   There was a sort of sense of sick amusement as Wes let her eyes stay on Beaux, watching and listening to her response. They were both sullen, looking bleak, over the whole shit show - but Wes could hear something different in the other’s voice. A strain. The chatter. Wesley didn’t really care what it meant, but she still found it odd. 

   Being here was… odd. So many people had come outside for the vigil, Wes reminded herself as she glanced around, pulling her jacket closer around her and turning her frown back to Cecilia. 

  No, Marcus really didn’t deserve it. Something about that made Wes almost sad - like maybe almost she wished that he would’ve. Maybe she wished that someone here actually gave a shit. Maybe she wished that she did, but in reality… she couldn’t pull up any anger at Beaux’s words. They were not lies. 

  Even if she wished they were. 

But – still. The chatter had been odd. “Is that how you really feel?” Wesley asked finally, after a long pause had happened, practically ending the conversation. She regretted the words right after asking - Wes didn’t care how anyone felt, so why would she even bother to ask? 

  She just hoped secretly someone else felt guilty, too. Because Wes did, and she hated it, and standing there in the cold surrounded by fake faces - Beaux was the closest thing she could consider reality, when nothing about this seemed real. 

It didn’t bother Beaux, someone watching her this intensely. She’d been feeling like she was being watched ever since Marcus’s body had shown up. At least now, she knew who was looking at her. A fleeting thought made her think that maybe all of this was Wesley, maybe she was behind all of the drama. But then-- it didn’t seem exactly her style, to solve a murder and play games with it.

The frankness of the question surprised her when she didn’t think it would. But Wesley was a weirdo, and everybody said so. People said that about Beaux a lot too, could see right through whatever guise she might build up. They were odd people. 

It made her think. She’d said all that, but did she really think it. The guilt was welling up in her. Marcus had been terrible, had been awful, and he’d tried to take something from her that she could never get back. She wasn’t sorry that she’d defended herself, but she was guilty that she’d killed him, killed him and buried him and never told a soul. She was death-touched, and it was just more proof that she couldn’t avoid. 

She glanced over, meeting Wesley’s eyes. “I don’t know.” A shrug of her shoulder. A bashful smile. “We weren’t friends. I couldn’t have -- stopped. What happened to him.” She could have, but she wouldn’t have. Wesley knew that Beaux and Marcus weren’t friends, but Wesley also probably knew that Beaux and Marcus had been more than casual acquaintances at one point in their lives. Gone to all the same parties. Talked while they were drunk. She knew him better than a lot of the people here did, and he had tried to know her intimately. That was why he was dead. “I guess its just weird. I guess it annoys me that so many people are here pretending.” 

She shakes her head. “But like I said. We weren’t friends. So I don’t know how I feel.” 

Watching her unlock and open the door is second nature: he can feel his own muscle memory responding in kind, in time with hers– top lock, bottom lock, kick the very corner of the door to unjam it. He almost laughs, at the realization that they still haven’t gotten the door fixed, three years later. Of course Jonathan would never have thought to do it. He liked it – liked watching freshman struggle to get inside until they’d been thoroughly hazed. Meanwhile, Nathan had grown up with sticky locks, had never bothered to question how much it might cost them to get a door fixed.

He follows her inside, and the inside of the Morgue looks as much the same as the outside, different but still almost indistinguishable from what it might have looked like on his last days. Furniture in the same places, the same scent of stale alcohol and mixed perfumes – a scent he’d gotten so used to, living there, that he’d never noticed, but that’s almost overpowering as he steps inside.

     “Yeah, it’s not… the most sensical thing that’s ever happened to me,” he admits, as he tugs his coat off. Coffee, god, he hadn’t even thought about coffee, but no wonder his head hurt. “I think they’re grasping at straws, probably. I like – I don’t now if you remember? Marko and I got called in for questioning last time around because someone saw us having an argument with him like three days before he disappeared. I figure if I’m the best suspect they have, either they’re fucked, or I am.”

The coffee machine is a calming thing, as familiar to her as breathing. Its her most precious possession, some days. She isn’t sure what she would do without it in the morning. She’s drinking too much coffee these days, and she knows it, but its the simple things in life that keep you going, and she’s pretty sure she would crumble if she tried to cut back now. She goes through the motions, easy, familiar, calming, and listens to him. 

Several sparks of guilt settle low in her stomach. God, she hated that innocent people were in danger over this shit. But still -- she knew she could never say anything. She’d carried this secret for too long, the shame of it turning her heart black in spots. And like Jonathan, she’d taken an oath. To break it would be to stab him in the back. To betray the man who had risked everything to help her. She just wished it wasn’t hurting Nathan. 

She hands him the cup when its brewed, holding her own tight between clutched palms as she settles into a seat at the table. “Grasping at straws, definitely.” She nods, trying to radiate calm. “I give it a week before they’re forced to accept that you didn’t have anything to do with it. A lot of people hated Marcus. I’m sure some other evidence will...turn up.” Except she wasn’t. Wasn’t sure, and hoped it didn’t. Any more evidence, surely, would lead back places she didn’t want it. A long sip helps settle her mind, a soft clearing of her throat making way for words. “It’ll all be fine, I know it.”